


The Forest for the Trees

by nutmeag83



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Asexual Sherlock, Autumn, Christmas, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Oblivious John, Oblivious Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock's Birthday, Unilock, but in different ways, moments in time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-18 03:28:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13091475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nutmeag83/pseuds/nutmeag83
Summary: Sherlock and John perceive their relationship very differently, though, not really at all. Labels are confusing.





	1. October

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo, I have four more Christmas ficlets to write and even more to edit, but instead I hammered out 5K in an evening. I blame it on this week's work stress. I need to decompress by word vomiting. Oops. This is just a little story that's been living in the back of my mind ever since I read Mssmithlove's [All I Want for Christmas](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5457812). This is not a prequel or sequel to that delightful tale, but it did inspire this story, so thank you, Mssmithlove!
> 
> Not too much to the premise. The boys are at uni, they misunderstand what their relationship actually is, fluff and angst ensue. 
> 
> Not beta'd or Brit-picked. I've only gone through it a couple of times, since this was very much a last-minute word vomit, so I'm sure it's riddled with typos and grammar errors. I hope the Christmas spirit inspires you to not hate me for that. 
> 
> Enjoy

“I just don’t understand why you feel the need to fraternize with these imbecilic women. You’re too interesting to have anything in common with them. They’ll just make you stupid and bored. I, on the other hand, provide interest and excitement to your life. We laugh together and make fun of people together and talk about interesting things. Even the most boring night in front of the telly with me is ten times more interesting than any time you could spend with those idiots. You deserve better, John.”

Sherlock breathed, rant over. He was tired of seeing John wasting his life with air-headed women not even worth John’s glance, let alone his time and money. He didn’t understand how John couldn’t see that. He was an intelligent man. Well, more intelligent than most people Sherlock had met—not that that was a difficult feat. He was a medical student with good grades, he understood people far better than Sherlock ever would, he was good looking, and his easy manner and lack of fashion sense belied a man who loved excitement and danger. He was a catch for anyone, and yet he insisted on dating women that might as well be mannequins for all the personality and intelligence they had.

If John wasn’t fiercely heterosexual, Sherlock might have even ended his self-imposed no-relationships rule for him. He was that worth it. Unfortunately, in the three months they’d known each other, John had only dated (a long string of) women. He had only looked at women. He had only talked about women. Well, women and Sherlock, according to Greg. But Sherlock didn’t count. Not only because he was male, but also because they were flatmates and spent a lot of time together. It was natural to talk a good deal about the person you spent the most time with.

John had been a complete surprise in Sherlock’s life. Sherlock had moved into the upstairs flat at Mrs. Hudson’s place on Baker Street during the summer hols before his last year at uni and had expected to live alone. But Mrs. Hudson, either wanting to bring in more money or (more likely) worried about Sherlock being alone all the time, decided to let the second-story room. John—a first-year medical student, new to London, and very responsible—had been the third applicant to try his hand at living with Sherlock and the first to last a week.

He had endeared himself to Mrs. Hudson with his kind and calm demeanor and to Sherlock with his love of adventure and ability to not freak out over body parts in the fridge or Sherlock’s massive sulks. They’d been friends ever since. Sherlock dragged John around the city solving cold cases (the only ones the Met would give him) and John made Sherlock keep a semi-normal schedule so that he didn’t have to drop out of all of his classes (again). It was a good partnership. Sherlock gained his first friend, and John… well, Sherlock wasn’t sure what good he did for John, besides making him laugh and help him learn his way around London. But whatever it was, John seemed to enjoy Sherlock’s company. Sherlock had stopped trying to suss that mystery out.

And yet, despite their quite satisfactory arrangement, John still felt the need to date a quarter of London. And Sherlock was tired of it. So when the girlfriend du jour left Baker Street (after a terrible date, from the looks on both their faces) one evening, Sherlock decided he’d had enough. He’d let loose his rant with barely a thought on whether it was a smart thing to do.

John looked stunned and a little confused. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. His brow furrowed. He scratched the back of his neck. Then, he smiled. It started small and shy, then grew.

“Soooo… you and me should–”

It was obvious. Who needed serial dating when you had a good friendship? “Of course, John. We can stand each other far better than we can stand anyone else. It’s only logical. Besides, I think the Met might start giving us real cases soon. I’ll need you available at a moment’s notice.”

“Us? You want me on the cases, even though I’m not likely to provide much help?”

“The two of us against the rest of the world. You help me think better. Plus, you’re a medical student. You’ll be able to assess murder victim conditions much more quickly than most of the Yard would be able to. It only makes sense to have you along.”

John lit up as Sherlock spoke. It made him look quite… lovely. Sherlock liked it. He promised himself that he’d make John look like that as often as possible.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah. You and me against the rest of the world.”

Sherlock felt warm to hear John say that. No, it wasn’t the romantic relationship that he thought he might want (it was hard to tell; he wanted to be with John all the time, but being asexual meant it was sometimes difficult understanding the difference between platonic and romantic attraction), but it was John by his side as often as possible, and that sounded fantastic.

“Good,” Sherlock agreed. He went to put on his coat. “I’ve got an overnight experiment on campus, so don’t wait up.”

* * *

There were no more girlfriends after that. When they went out to eat, it was with each other. When John wanted to meet up with Greg or Molly, he dragged Sherlock along. And sometimes, on quiet and cold nights, they curled up on the sofa and watched films together. And if they started sitting a little closer together—leaning into each other or even one person’s head on the other’s shoulder, legs tangled up under the blanket Mrs. Hudson had crocheted them—well, that’s just what friends did.


	2. November

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock overhears something that upsets him. John is, as always, oblivious to Sherlock's pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so yeah. Sherlock is a genius who should be able to work out the details, but just remember the name of this fic. Sometimes we have trouble seeing what's right in front of us when our brains are being particularly stubborn.

The autumn day was clear and cold as Sherlock left campus to head to Bart’s. His class had let out early, and Sherlock was glad he’d have time to grab coffees before he met up with John for John’s break between classes. Then Sherlock would head home to read through some cold case files Greg had managed to wheedle away from his new boss at the Met. Sherlock wasn’t sure why John was so insistent they meet up between classes, since they lived together and spent a majority of their free time together already. But he supposed John got tired of dealing with imbeciles all day and that even twenty minutes with Sherlock gave him a reprieve.

Sherlock tried to fill those breaks with interesting facts or the details of the latest case he was looking through, anything to give John a respite from the stupidity the rest of the world provided in spades. John seemed to appreciate his efforts, if his grins, questions, and exclamations of “brilliant!” were anything to go by. It was nice, feeling useful to someone. Plus, any time spent with John made the day better. He needed those respites too.

Of course, the more time Sherlock spent with John, the more he realized that his feelings for his friend were indeed romantic. When they were apart, Sherlock couldn’t wait to see John again. He loved the way the man smelled and how warm he was when they curled up on the sofa together. He loved his laugh and the way his eyes got soft when he talked to Mrs. Hudson. He loved the way John inspired him to be a better person. He loved the way that, when they were talking to other people, their eyes would meet conspiratorially over the stupidity of the others.

He knew it could never be. John wasn’t gay. And even if he was, he only had platonic feelings for Sherlock. Sherlock had had plenty of time to observe how John behaved around his dates and people he was attracted to. He didn’t behave that way around Sherlock. But despite the fact that Sherlock was doomed to pine away for his best friend, his life was still one hundred times better for having John in it. So he didn’t think about it. They were best friends. That’s what mattered.

He stopped his progression down a corridor at Bart’s to juggle the coffees he’d just purchased and perked up when he heard John’s voice around the corner. Perfect timing. He was about to start walking again when John’s words reached his ears.

“Yeah, my boyfriend _hated_ that film. He complained about it for three days. I didn’t think it was that bad. A bit boring and predictable, but not terrible.”

Sherlock froze. His _boyfriend_? _His boyfriend_?!? Since when did John have a boyfriend? Since when did John date men? Since when did John not tell his _best friend_ that he had a boyfriend? How had Sherlock not deduced it? When did they have time to hang out? All of John’s free time was spent with Sherlock (sometimes with others too, but no one who could be deemed a boyfriend, Sherlock was certain of that).

He was pulled from his reverie by John clicking his fingers in front of Sherlock’s face.

“Earth to Sherlock. You in there?”

“Where else would I be?” Sherlock bit back.

John just grinned. “There you are. Ooh, coffee for me?” he asked.

Sherlock wordlessly handed it over, still unable to really articulate anything. His world had just flipped completely. It seemed as though everything he knew was a lie. This made no sense.

John must have noticed, because after a few minutes of talking (complaining about class?), he frowned at Sherlock. “Alright? You seem off.” His hand went to Sherlock’s arm, a common move these days. One that had made Sherlock feel a little special. Now he wasn’t so sure. John had a boyfriend. A boyfriend that not only wasn’t Sherlock, but a boyfriend Sherlock had never even heard of. He needed to get out, needed to think, needed space.

“I’m fine,” Sherlock tried to prevaricate. “Experiment. Busy.”

“Oh yeah? Tell me about it.”

Sherlock couldn’t even think up a convincing experiment to share. His brain was overloaded with JohnlyingboyfriendSherlockaloneWhyFriendsNotfriendsWhyWhyWHY, and he couldn’t concentrate.

“I should get back to it, actually. Time sensitive.” He turned around and walked as quickly but as calmly as he was able, John’s confused voice echoing behind him through the hall.

* * *

Sherlock never got up the nerve to ask John about his boyfriend. But when things otherwise stayed the same between them, John’s usual warmth and attentiveness still in place, Sherlock decided to let it go. Perhaps he worried that Sherlock would have another meltdown and so chose to hide the relationship to keep Sherlock calm. Perhaps he was just trying on a new sexual identity and didn’t want to share it with Sherlock until he knew for sure. That was his choice. If John didn’t want to tell him about this mysterious man he was dating, so be it.

While Sherlock hated the idea that John was splitting his time between Sherlock and another man, there wasn’t much he could do about it. They were only friends. And perhaps not as good of friends a Sherlock had come to think they were. Sherlock, despite wanting to, had no right to monopolize John’s time.

With time, they grew even closer. John still leaned against him when they watched the telly. He still asked Sherlock to meet him for breaks. They still got take-away together and laughed over stupid things and shared conspiratorial looks. Maybe the boyfriend had been short-lived. Maybe he was just very independent. Whatever the case, Sherlock still had John, and that’s all he was allowed to ask for.


	3. December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas with the Holmses and sort of pretend boyfriends, though that depends on who you ask.

Convincing John to come home with Sherlock for Christmas turned out to be easier than expected. Sherlock mentioned it casually one evening in mid-December, and John had replied with a lovely smile and an “Of course, if you want me to.” As if Sherlock could want anything else. His pining had increased exponentially in the past few months, but he’d somehow managed to keep it hidden from his friend. John was smart, but he sometimes missed the most obvious clues. Sherlock found it a bit charming.

John coming home with him for Christmas killed several birds with one stone. One, John’s only family was his sister Harry, and she’d be spending the winter hols with her girlfriend in Liverpool. If he didn’t come with Sherlock, he’d be home alone. And that was just not on. Two, Mummy went a bit… mad over Christmas. With John around to share the load, Sherlock would be forced into less holiday spirit than usual. With John’s romantic nature, he was inclined to actually enjoy Christmas anyway. He and Mummy could natter on about holiday silliness together and leave Sherlock out of it. Three, most importantly, Sherlock couldn’t bear to spend that much time apart from John.

They were practically attached at the hip now. The possibility of a boyfriend was mere memory, and any hours not spent sleeping or going to class were spent together. So not only would Sherlock be at a loss if he didn’t have John around to joke with and keep the boredom at bay, he just couldn’t bear the thought of going so many days without seeing John’s happy smile, feeling his warm hands, or hearing his contagious laugh.

The time between end of term and Christmas seemed to rush by, and suddenly they were home. Mummy plied them with cider, mulled wine, and nibbles, Dad showed them his latest wood carvings, and Mycroft rolled his eyes a lot from the sofa his arse seemed to be married to. He had just started working as an aide to a public servant of one sort or another and apparently thought himself better than everyone else. John seemed not to care that he had taken over the burden of Mycroft’s holiday chores, always saying he didn’t mind at all, that he liked being needed.

Mummy was ecstatic that Sherlock finally had a friend and couldn’t stop commenting on how amazing the man was. Though Sherlock agreed with her assessment, he thought her raptures were getting out of hand. He didn’t understand it for what it was until late on Christmas Eve after a game of Scrabble (Sherlock had won, and John had come second, but likely only because Mummy only cared about numbers and Mycroft was glued to his new work phone).

They were having their final round of drinks when Mummy pulled out the camera and forced the family in front of the tree for pictures. She started off with the usual: she and Dad, Sherlock and Mycroft, all four of them. Then she told John to jump in as well. At first, Sherlock thought she just didn’t want John to feel left out (even though he seemed perfectly content pressing camera buttons), but after the group pictures were done, Mummy shooed Sherlock and John back in front of the tree.

“Every couple should have a picture in front of the tree,” she had explained as she posed them.

Sherlock stiffened. Oh. She thought they were together. He wasn’t sure what gave her that idea, since he had never once called John his boyfriend (out loud). They hadn’t kissed or even touched too often. They just acted like friends. Close friends, yes. Best friends. But that was all.

He was about to refute their relationship status when John put his arm around Sherlock’s waist and leaned in. “Oh, come on, Scrooge. It’s Christmas. Indulge your mum just this once.”

John’s breath was a soft puff on Sherlock’s neck, his arm a warm band around his waist, and Sherlock suddenly didn’t have it in him to fight. It felt so nice, so right, being here like this, being a couple. And John was right. He rarely saw his parents. It wasn’t difficult letting her win just this once. He would have to call her after the trip, though, and explain why she was wrong in her assumption.

So Sherlock relaxed and leaned in a bit to John. John hummed contentedly, then pinched him with his free hand to get him to smile. Not a bad way to spend Christmas Eve.

* * *

“I’m, um, sorry about Mother and the thing with the photos,” Sherlock apologized later that night. Everyone was in bed but the two of them, who had stayed up to watch _Die Hard_ , apparently the “best Christmas ever made.” Given the holiday schlock usually found on the television, Sherlock had to agree. Still, the movie had been rather ridiculous. But it had been fun. John had let Sherlock scoff all he wanted, and only hushed him during the “important bits.”

Now they were curled up on the sofa, enjoying the quiet of the house and the warmth of the last of a fire. John had announced he needed sleep, but Sherlock couldn’t let him go without apologizing for the embarrassment that was his mother. It had felt nice that John didn’t mind pretending they were a couple for his mum, but Sherlock still needed to show his appreciation.

John shook his head and smiled. “It’s fine, Sherlock. She’s a mum; they’re meant to be exuberant.”

“But still–”

“Sherlock, really, I don’t mind. It was kind of nice, actually. You’re lucky to have a mother who can fawn over you, silly as it may seem. I would give anything to have my mum…” He trailed off, his face scrunched in sorrow. John’s mum had died when he was sixteen, at the beginning of his dating years. Sherlock reckoned he could understand wanting to experience that motherly silliness, if even it was based on a faulty assumption.

He was also doubly glad he’d asked John to come home with him. Even if it had hurt a bit to pretend, John had had a moment of family normalcy. And though Sherlock couldn’t understand wanting that at all, he understood where John was coming from. He knew John craved that bit of normalcy, despite being rather extraordinary himself.

“Well, then,” Sherlock replied. “I’m glad you were able to have that.”

John smiled softly. “This is the best Christmas I’ve had in ages. Than you, Sherlock.”

Just then, the clock struck two, and John raised his brows in surprise. “I really should get to bed if I’m going to be worth anything in the morning.”

Sherlock didn’t like the idea of John leaving yet. He rolled his eyes, trying to look annoyed rather than bereft. “It’s not as if you must to get up early. We’re not children, needing to tear into gifts at four in the morning.”

“I’m not going to be the slothful guest, Sherlock.” He rolled his head to the side so that it knocked gently against Sherlock’s. Sherlock liked that. “Merry Christmas, you mad man.” He then put his hand on Sherlock leg to lever himself to standing. “Don’t stay up too late, okay? I might find your surliness kind of adorable, but most people shouldn’t have to deal with it, family included.” He yawned and headed for the stairs.

Still processing the fact that John found something about Sherlock _adorable_ , Sherlock didn’t realize he’d forgot to reply until John was halfway up to the first floor. “Merry Christmas, John,” he said, just loudly enough to be heard by his friend. He had to agree, this was the best Christmas he’d had in years.


	4. January

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys celebrate Sherlock's birthday and finally realize they're not exactly on the same page.

“Happy birthday, you git,” John said, smiling at Sherlock across the table. Sherlock stiffened in surprise. He hadn’t thought anything of it when John had suggested that they go out to eat that night. He mentioned something about celebrating, but Sherlock had just solved a rather difficult cold case, and he’d just thought John wanted to commemorate that. He’d never told John his birthday, and he didn’t think John had ever seen his ID, so he wasn’t sure how he’d found out when it was.

As if reading his mind, John grinned wider. “I asked your mum at Christmas. Cut it close, with your early January birthday. You would’ve glossed right over it, wouldn’t you have? Idiot.” He shook his head in a way Sherlock had come to see as fond, sort of like Mummy had when Sherlock was young (and sometimes even now). He had always liked that expression on John. It was proof that not everyone found Sherlock to be annoying and difficult to be around. It said that some people found his foibles at least a little endearing, rather than unbearable. And that it was John made it even better.

Sherlock shrugged. “I don’t understand why people feel the need to celebrate their birth. It’s just another day.”

“Well, you might find it tedious, but I for one would like to celebrate the fact that you’re in this world and that I get to share your time in it with you. So perhaps we’re celebrating what a lucky guy I am,” he said with a wink.

“We’ll be sure the waitress brings you the cake then,” Sherlock retorted, but he couldn’t manage any bite to his tone. John considered himself lucky to be friends with Sherlock. Lucky that Sherlock was in the world at all. The idea warmed him like birthday candles never could.

John placed his hand on the table, fiddling with his silverware for a moment. Then he inched his hand toward the center of the table. “I really do feel lucky, Sherlock. The past few months have been… so great. When we first met, I couldn’t believe you’d even give me the time of day. You were so smart, and you seemed so untouchable. But you let me into your world, you shared it with me. I couldn’t ask for more.”

Speech complete, he brought his hand further toward Sherlock’s. He hesitated a moment, then picked up Sherlock’s hand, brought it toward him, and kissed Sherlock’s knuckles gently. Then he laid Sherlock’s hand back on the table and looked away for a moment, cheeks tinged with pink. Then he nodded and looked back at Sherlock.

Sherlock was at a loss. He had been explaining away their closeness for months, telling himself that of course friends cuddled on the sofa to watch a movie, of course they spent every waking moment together. Sherlock had never had a real friend before (Greg didn’t count; they had been lab partners, then Greg had been Sherlock’s way into the Met after he’d finished uni), so he’d let himself believe they behaved as any pair of best friends might.

But best friends didn’t kiss each other’s hands. They probably didn’t live in each other’s pockets. And the most likely didn’t cuddle on the couch. But this made no sense. Why would straight-as-an-arrow John Watson act like they were dating? And why did he never mention their relationship? Did John merely feel sorry for Sherlock? Did he just want to give his friend the experience of a romantic relationship because he pitied him, wanted to give him a little handout?

Sherlock felt rage build inside him. He didn’t need pity. He was fine on his own. He hadn’t asked for John’s help. He had never even expressed an interest in a romantic relationship.

“Don’t,” he said lowly.

“Sorry. I didn’t think you’d take it any differently than the sofa cuddling, and you seem to like that well enough. I just–”

“No! You can’t just… play act that we’re a couple. I don’t need your pity, John.”

John looked hurt, but quickly masked it. “Sherlock, I don’t pit–”

“Of course you do,” Sherlock sneered, crossing his arms. “I was an idiot not to see it at first, but I wasn’t exactly well versed in friendship, now was I? I told myself we were no different from any other friends, but then you went along with my mother’s silly idea at Christmas and now you’re celebrating my birthday and telling me how lucky you are and kissing my hand. And it’s made me think back to the sofa cuddling and the touching and– and friends don’t do that! So you must be taking pity on me, letting me feel like I’m in a relationship because you think no one could ever want me. Oh! And let’s not forget that you were doing this while you had your mysterious boyfriend.” Sherlock’s voice wobbled at the last bit. The hurt he’d initially felt over that had come back in full force.

John’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Sherlock… you’re the only boyfriend I’ve ever had. And you’re not a pretend one either.”

“Of course I am. We’re not together!”

John’s face fell. He sat back in his chair like a puppet whose strings had been cut. “Oh.” He looked away.

Now it was Sherlock’s turn to be confused. John looked legitimately sad at Sherlock’s words. But why? He was letting John out of this strange farce Sherlock hadn’t even known he was a part of. John could go back to dating girls and living his own life. He wouldn’t have Sherlock hanging on like a limpet at every opportunity, weighing him down. And yet, he wasn’t happy. He wasn’t acting like a liberated man. He was acting like someone had taken away his favorite birthday gift.

Could John actually _want_ to be with Sherlock? Had he been acting under the misapprehension that they _were_ a couple? Sherlock thought back again, took away the lens of pity and added one of genuine enjoyment—all of their times kicking each other under the blankets on the sofa, the giggling at inappropriate things, the warmth of Christmas, the shared breaks between classes, the casual touches, and the smiles.

He felt a sliver of hope run through him. John maybe wanted to date him. Had thought they had been doing so for months. He echoed John’s earlier word, but accompanied by completely different emotions. “Oh!” His hands went to his mouth. “Oh. You… want to be with _me_?”

John looked back at him, wary, but not closed off. He studied Sherlock for a moment, then nodded hesitantly. “Of course. Who wouldn’t?”

Sherlock wanted to cry at the words, uttered with complete sincerity and confusion. Instead, he let out a huff of a laugh. “Most of this planet, I would think.”

“More for me?” John asked, his face lighting up a bit.

Sherlock bit his lip. There had been a major miscommunication between them, and he was determined to not only figure out where they went wrong, but how to keep it from happening again. “So, uh, when did we start dating?”

Something in his expression must have reassured John, because he gave a tentative smile. “Back when you told me that you were better than any girlfriend I could ever have?”

Sherlock scrunched his face in thought, trying to remember precisely what was said. As John had said, he had ranted about John’s girlfriends being dull and how John’s time would be better spent having fun with Sherlock. Then John had said…

“ _So… you and me should_ _–_ ”

“ _Of course, John. We can stand each other far better than we can stand anyone else. It’s only logical._ ”

Sherlock had meant that best friends were more important than any dime-a-dozen girlfriend John could dredge up, but apparently John had taken it to mean that Sherlock wanted to _date_ John. He could see now how their tendency to not talk about anything deep had caused some confusion.

“Oh. Right. I see…” he said slowly.

“If you don’t–”

“John.”

“want to, I understand. I was stupid and naïve to think that. And even so–”

“John.”

“I should have insisted we talk about it. I just thought that was you being–”

“John.”

“Let me say my piece, Sherlock. You being you. I know you see relationships differently, and so I thought… this was just how you did them. And it was fine. I was just happy that you wanted me, however it was you were capable of wanting.” John shrugged.

Sherlock felt warm all over. John Watson wanted him. He let himself linger in the glow a moment. Then something John said caught up with him. “Wait. You were willing to be in a mostly non-romantic, non-physical, let’s-not-talk-about-it relationship with me? Just because you… had feelings for me? You gave up girls for _that_?!? What is wrong with you?”

John smiled self-consciously. “I fell in love.”

Sherlock sagged back in his chair. Oh.

“I’m a rubbish boyfriend,” he muttered, half apology, half statement.

John’s smile got bigger. “You have your moments, but your mostly pretty okay.”

“I’m sorry, John. I was stupid–”

“No, I was stupid. I read things wrong, and then I didn’t ask for clarification…”

“John! My whole being is based on deductions and my ability to do them well. And yet, I was oblivious to the fact that I had an amazing boyfriend by my side the whole time. So I clearly win the stupidity match.”

John raised an eyebrow, not convinced. “Amazing?”

Sherlock grinned. This was brilliant. “Fantastic, smart, fun, perfect boyfriend.”

John beamed back. “So, just to clarify… you want this? Us?”

“Yes.”

“Romantically.”

“I love you, John Watson.”

“Okay. Yeah. That’s good. I love you, Sherlock Holmes.”

Sherlock felt like he could float away, but he didn’t know how to express that, so he merely said, “Good.”

John fiddled with his silverware. “So, for further clarification. Physically…”

“What we’ve been doing, definitely good. Kissing… I reserve the right to form an opinion after having experienced it. Sex… most likely out, but again, reserve the right to change my mind later.”

“Okay. Boundaries, good.” John looked so serious, Sherlock thought he was actually taking mental notes. He couldn’t believe someone took his opinions and feelings so seriously. Even after months as friends (boyfriends?), it was still novel to him. He vowed to not ever take it for granted.

“But…” he began, trying to decide how to phrase it. “Maybe, if you want to, you could move into my room?”

“Yeah?” John asked, crooked (adorable) smile returning. “You just want me because I’m warm,” he teased.

Sherlock softly kicked his ankle, then let his foot rest where it was. “Berk.”

“Git.”

* * *

They left the restaurant that evening in great spirits, buoyed by good food and better conversation. As they walked down the pavement back to Baker Street, Sherlock slipped his hand into John’s. John squeezed it, then laced their fingers together. They fit perfectly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumbler [@vateacancameos](http://vateacancameos.tumblr.com/).


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